


A little TLC

by Beanchan



Series: Between Gestalts [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Feeling sick, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2041350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanchan/pseuds/Beanchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dead End has a bug and is pretty surprised when someone comes to check on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little TLC

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah...crack-ship

Dead End felt horrible. Well, more so then usual that is, or rather, he felt physically horrible, not just emotionally.

He’d picked up some sort of a virus a few earth days ago, probably from one of those disgusting Autobots, and it was currently reeking havoc on his systems. The Constructicons had told him it was nothing serious, the equivalent of a human cold they’d said, and it would purge itself from his system in a few solar cycles. That didn’t help the fact that in the mean time he was absolutely miserable.

Part of him was actually glad Motormaster had demanded he be quarantined in a private med bay room for the time being. He knew it was because Motormaster didn’t want himself or any of his brothers catching the virus but still, at least Dead End had a nice dark quiet place to feel like he was dying in.

Ok, maybe not dying but close. He’d been told to get some rest and let the virus run it’s course but that just was not happening. He’d be trying for the last few hours and all he’d managed were a few minutes of fevered recharge and a massive processor ache. Honestly he wasn’t sure what would kill him first, the ache or the fever. Probably the fever. His plating was just a little bit thicker then his brothers’ (to compensate for the relatively light frame of his alt mode) and at the moment he wanted to ripe it off just to get some relief. Sadly, he didn’t have the strength right now. Not to mention it would ruin his paint.

When the door to the room slide open he didn’t even look up from the berth. It could be he was just hearing things again in his fevered state. A large hand just above his visor though confirmed someone else actually was in the room.

“Slag, you’re burning up.”

The voice was familiar. Couldn’t quite place it though.

“Someone was suppose to come check on you...”

One of the Constructicons, he was pretty sure.

“Oh course leave it to me to be the reliable one. They always do this..uh...sorry, hang on a second, let me just...”

Dead End’s processor was just about to finally spit out the voice’s owner when the hand on his forehead was replaced with something cold. Very cold, and a little wet.

Oh Frag that felt wonderful.

And, wait, the other mech was still talking.

“....ice, figured it might help. It works on humans on that TV Drama, you know the one, anyway. They’re not completely stupid as a species I suppose. Is it helping any then?”

For a moment Dead End worried that he’d forgotten how work his vocalizer. When he did remember his normally posh voice came out terribly weak. “Y-yes it’s actually helping a lot...thanks.”

He really didn’t know why he added the thanks. The other Con was only doing his job after all. Still, having someone actually considering his well being, even going out of his way to get ice from who knows where, it was kind of nice.

“Right then, good. I’m going to give your some sedatives now.” Dead End vaguely felt something being injected into his central line. “Your should be able to recharge with the feve....”

Whatever else the mech was saying was lost as the Stunticon finally slipped into a blissful oblivion.

\--------------------------------------------------

Dead End came out of recharge with a start, frame shaking. It hadn’t been a nightmare that’d woken him up though, it was the fact that he was freezing. He automatically curled up on himself, metal plates rattling with shivers.

Great, now he was going to die from hypothermia.

“Frag it, sit up.” A hand under his shoulder helped pull him up into a sitting position on the berth as something warm and soft was wrapped around him.

It was a blanket. A giant robot sized blanket bundled around his shivering frame.

But it wasn’t just the blanket, there was a larger mech on the berth behind him now, holding him up more or less.

“Knew that was going to happen. Always does with this kind of virus. Fever then chills, every time.”

He processor had finally cleared up enough to put a name to the voice. “Long Haul?”

The truck shifted slightly behind him. “So you do know who I am. Wasn’t sure, your were kind of out of it earlier. “

So it was Long Haul, that was good, he liked the dump truck. Well, to be more accurate he disliked him far far less then pretty much anyone else on the Nemesis. Not including his brothers of course, family factored in on another level entirely.

But the Constructicon always seemed like a decent mech. Took the time to listen to Dead End’s complaints whenever he was in for repairs, or at least never tell him to shut up and take it like a Con like Hook did. He didn’t babble on about stupid things like Scavenger or do that creepy barely saying anything while staring at you thing that Mixmaster did. Bonecrusher always seemed to purposely scratch his paint job and Scrapper was ok but he expected you out of his medbay the moment your welds set and you could walk.

Yeah, Long Haul was definitely his choice of medics.

The chill was starting to subside now and he limbs finally uncurled, allowing him to lean back more comfortably against the other Con.

“Feeling better then?”

“Yes.” Dead End’s voice sounded a little more normal to him now and the frame behind him was warm and solid and frag it felt really good. Actually that brought up a question that had been sitting at the back of his processor for awhile now.

“Why exactly are you being so nice to me?”

He was pretty sure the truck’s frame stiffened. “You’re sick. I’m taking care of a patient. It’s part of my job.”

“You’re putting a lot more effort into it then most would.” He didn’t even know why he felt the need to prod. He should really just leave it alone but slaggit he was curious. Maybe he still had a fevered processor.

“Well...you appreciate my effort more then most.” There was a long pause. “You’re pretty much the only one who thanks me for my work.”

“That’s because you do good work!” Dead End felt the need to remind the Constructicon of that, adamantly. “No one else can smooth out a weld scar like you, or match my paint so perfectly. You’re an artist really I mean..”

“I get it. Don’t over exert yourself.” The Stunticon hadn’t even realized he’d been punctuating his words with arm movements till a large hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I suppose it’s just...nice to take care of someone who appreciates me.”

Dead End wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He was starting to wonder if he actually did ‘like’ Long Haul. He was feeling really warm now and his fuel tank was churning a bit and...

Oh...Wait...

“Slag...going to be...sick...”

He was pretty impressed by the speed Long Haul had pulled a waste bin from under the berth and placed it in front of him. Or he would be if he wasn’t busy purging directly into it.

Even doubled over retching (Thank Primus he’d removed his battle mask when he’d first been sent to the medbay) Dead End still noticed the one arm around his front keeping him from falling over and the hand rubbing his back trying to make the heaving a bit more bare-able.

When his tank was completely empty, and what energy he’d had completely wiped, the bin had been removed. Then a cleaning rag to his faceplate to remove anything lingering and a small vile of coolant pressed to his lips to smooth his raw intakes. Finally, he was gently maneuvered back down to the berth

“That probably purged the virus from your system. You should be back to normal after a decent recharge and a refuel.” Long Haul laid the blanket back over his frame lightly.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. The purge was expected sooner or later.”

“Yes but I...ruined the moment.”

Long Haul chuckled. Or at least Dead End was pretty sure he did. He’d never actually heard the Con laugh before.

“There will be better moments. When you’re back to full working order hopefully.”

For the briefest of moments a large hand brushed over his own.

“Now recharge.”

Without another word the Constructicon left the room.

Well, that was something he was going to look forward too another time. But for now all Dead End cared about was glorious sleep.


End file.
